A Hobbesian Choice
by Kamiki M
Summary: Amell & Alistair find comfort in each other after Alistair completes Morrigan's ritual.


_**Author's Note**_: This story is made up of 1 part angst, 1 part fluff and 1 part lampost-licking. In other words, Lemons (smut) are in this fic, read at your own risk.

A log pops loudly in the fireplace and I jump mid-stride. I stare into the firefor a long moment before I sigh and start to pace again.

He left over an hour ago. How long does it take for Morrigan to complete this sodding ritual? My heart falters and I feel the panic rising once again. What in the name of Andraste was I thinking, agreeing to this? My nails dig hard into my palms at the thought of him touching her, kissing her, of her hands touching where mine had been, of him finding completion in another woman: it's awful. I stop pacing to place my hands over my heart and bend my head. This feels like dying. Worse than dying, it feels like decaying, like-

The door flies open and slams against the wall with a bang. I jump and look to see Alistair standing there, panting, wide-eyed and looking very much like the Archdemon itself is hot on his heels. He swings the door shut, storms up to me, cradles my face between his hands and kisses me with a feverish desperation.

"Please, please, I need to forget," he begs.

"Alistair, did she...?" I question.

"NO! No, please, Amell, I can't talk about this. I need to not think about it," he interrupts.

I kiss him to get that haunted look off his face and hear him sigh in relief. I feel a little sick, kissing him after she's touched him. After she's, well...I break away and hear a faint whimper.

"Come," I say softly, "come here, Alistair. Let's enjoy a bath."

"Oh Maker, yes, a bath," he utters.

We both slip out of our clothes quickly and the water sloshes over the side of the tub when we enter, but I care not. Let the servants mop it up in the morning. For all we have done for the country, for all we will do for the entirety of Thedas, I think a little water damage is acceptable payment.

I rearrange Alistair so that I am behind him in the tub. He sighs when I kiss the back of his neck, then just below his earlobe, and finally, each temple.

"My brave Templar knight," I murmur, "let me tend to your wounds."

I pull a soft cloth from a nearby table and gently smooth it down his back in slow circles, using pressure where he seems tense. I massage the cloth up and down until he eases against me completely. As much as I'm trying to relax him and soothe his frayed nerves, I'm also attempting to soothe mine.

I lean forward, draping my arms over his shoulders, and start the same process on his chest. I swirl the cloth over his heart, drag it down to his navel and slowly pull it back up to brush a nipple. I feel a flash of guilt as I realize I'm attempting to wipe away the stain it feels like Morrigan has left on his body. I abandon the cloth to use my bare hands, feeling a thrill at the sensation of his taut body relaxing beneath them. My breathing quickens and heart beats rapidly as I slide my hands over to tease his nipples. He groans and turns around, gently gathering me in his arms to kiss me.

The urgency and panic are no longer present in his ministrations. He is focusing on me now and not what happened with Morrigan. I reward him by sliding a hand across his stomach and ever-so-slowly lower it down to tease the inside of his thigh with my fingertips. I am rewarded with a hitch in his breathing. His head drops and he presses his cheek to mine.

"Maker take you, Amell, stop teasing me," he groans huskily into my ear.

"As you wish, Alistair," I say as I trail my fingertips to his manhood and gently wrap my hand around his shaft and start slowly stroking him.

"Amell, yes..." he croons.

He lifts his head and his kisses are more deliberate now. This is what we need: not his desperate, frightened passion but something purposeful, something to cleanse the both of us of what we have done in the name of selfishness & cowardice. Neither of us is afraid to die but we're both terrified of losing the other, of being left alone in this world with just heartache.

We're the last of the Ferelden Grey Wardens. We have responsibilities that supersede our personal desires, we have a duty to a higher calling, and we're...completely wrapped up in each other.

At the Landsmeet, I'd looked into his eyes and his had seemed to plead with mine.

"Give Anora the crown," I'd declared after a few seconds of hesitation.

Only myself & Arl Eamon had heard the reverence in Alistair's whispered prayer of "Oh thank the Maker". I'd answered not as the Grey Warden, but as Alistair's lover.

Wynne was right. Love is completely selfish.

I wish I could say I relinquished the crown to Anora to keep the Grey Warden's reputation for neutrality. I wish I could say I did it because it was what was best for Ferelden. Andraste's knickers, I wish I could say I did it thinking that Anora would be a fair ruler or that-

My mind goes blank as I feel Alistair's fingers trail up my thighs to stroke me and slip inside my core. He nibbles at my neck and it is I who groans as I lean my head back to give him greater access. He chuckles, brushes his mouth across my earlobe and murmurs, "my turn."

Several minutes later I'm whimpering, dying for completion, to be filled by him.

I gently squeeze him in my hand and feel him twitch.

"If you do not take me to bed this instant," I threaten, "I shall perform my OWN ritual upon you."

His eyes widen slightly and I immediately regret my words. All my work, all the effort to comfort him when he first arrived, to make us both forget, 'I've undone it all', I think mournfully.

Instead of the reaction I expect, his face lights up with a ferocious grin. "I believe you already have."

He lifts me out of the tub as he stands and throws me over his shoulder, dripping water everywhere and slipping a few times on the stone floor.

He drops me onto the bed and crawls over me. We're getting water everywhere and I could care less. We fall into ourselves and I once again grasp him to guide him to my entrance. He pauses, hovering. He looks into my eyes, the haunted look there again for only a moment before he slides into me and then breathes a sigh of relief. I cling to him, trying not to think of how shortly ago it was he had done this. I'm trying to forget that less than an hour ago he and Morrigan had lain together. That she could right now be bearing a child: _h__is_ child.

"No, Amell," he commands. His voice is demanding & he stops his rhythm. I look up, hoping that the haunted look is not now in _my_ eyes. His eyes bore into mine. A flash of determination and affection flickers across them as he looks down upon me.

I realize I've failed completely at holding up when I feel a stray tear slip past my temple.

He kisses it away and whispers gently, "It was nothing like it is with you. It was calculated and awkward and she had to use some witch-trick to even, to even, well, Maker, to even get me to a point where I was, how did she put it? Oh yes, 'not completely useless.'"

He kisses my temple again and says lovingly, "It has always been you. It will always be you. Please, I never want to be with anyone again if it cannot be you. I would rather rededicate myself to the blasted Chantry."

I give a watery chuckle and he kisses me sweetly. I run my fingers down his back and scrape my nails softly against him as I pull them back up. He growls and bends his head to gently bite & kiss my neck and my heart beats rapidly. I trail my lips across his cheek to nibble his ear. His head dips lower to swirl a tongue around my nipple and when he bites not-so-gently my back arches and it slides him further into me. He is still on his knees and I wrap my legs firmly around his hips. He slowly slides out and gently pushes himself back in fully. He bows his back and we both groan. We slowly resume our previous dance and it is without reservation now.  
><strong><br>**There is nothing left to prove to each other and no one in our bed & minds but us.

I feel my eyelids flutter shut as he drives himself within me again and again. My hips start to buck in time with his thrusts and I hear myself moan under his ministrations. Soon, his rhythm starts to falter, become faster, harder, & more erratic.

As my mind starts to focus and narrow, I run my fingers along his body leaving marks across his back. He kisses me feverishly and I feel a pressure deep within. My fingers travel up his neck to tighten in his hair. My back arches and I cry, "Maker, Alistair!" and feel myself tightening and shuddering around him. He thrusts twice more and cries out something I can't make out and quickly collapses against me.

After a few moments, he leverages himself up to kiss my neck, the tips of my ears, and my forehead. I relax and enjoy the lingering sensations. He rolls to the side and pulls me to him. I feel safe and loved.

"I didn't quite catch that last part," I sigh contentedly.

His mouth is against my ear and he breathes out, "'Only you.' I only want you, Amell, I only love you."

I nuzzle into his chest and feel sleep approaching rapidly. I think of all the decisions I've made and everything sacrificed, everyone not saved. I think of all we have endured for Ferelden, for Thedas, for the good of the Order.

I sigh against Alistair and murmur, "and it is only you, Alistair. Only ever you."

Sod the rest of Ferelden. We will save it from the Blight but it can save itself from the rest.


End file.
